


Brain Worms - Down by the River New Year's 2021 Challenge

by Skullharvester



Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [3]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, baldur's gate 3
Genre: Multi, Writing prompt challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullharvester/pseuds/Skullharvester
Summary: When your mind is still, you feel the worm tickle the inside of your head.  It whispers to you sometimes, telling you the things that you want to hear.  The things that you don't, too.Who are you?  What do you desire more than anything else?  What strikes fear into your heart?There are no secrets between us.( This is a collection of one-shots based on daily prompts, so it's kind of a variety of things. )( Done for the 2021 New Year Challenge made by the Discord group called Down by the River at: https://discord.gg/RXGYQuE )
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Cazador (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Halsin (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120211
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Day 1 - In Wine, Truth (Gale/OC)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not actually a part of the Discord server because I'm terribly shy, but I hope that's okay!
> 
> Enjoy and have fun!
> 
> If you liked this tale, please drop me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know if you'd like to see more!
> 
> Thank you, and have a wonderful night!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter could be viewed either as a friendship or a...shippy-ship. Whichever you'd like!)

* * *

* * *

You weren’t sure why fate always had to be this unkind to you. It was always one thing after another, wasn’t it? At least you still had your body and your mind, for now. Staring into the ornate hand mirror that you always kept with you (one of the few things you have left to remember your mother by), you wonder how long it’s going to last. Your sanity. Your good looks. Whether by time or the mind flayer parasite that now crawled around your brain, it was all going to disappear eventually. Why did it have to be you? What have you done to anger the gods so?

A deeper frown mars your beautiful bronze face as you dab a new coat of gloss on your lips, which you purse anxiously. You were not only going to die, but also become some abominable creature while your identity would be erased as you knew it. As anyone knew it, in fact. Would anyone remember Thomas, the Golden Boy—half-Rashemi, half-Mulan Red Wizard of Thay? Or would you be conveniently forgotten, like your other former traveling companions (the ones from your glory years) had, to spare the ones that survived the pain of your horrible transformation?

Your necromancy probably wouldn’t save you now, nor your other skills, and you gave up all hope of ever discovering the secret to the Philosopher’s Stone after years of delving through crypts and dungeons, only to be sorely disappointed and made to look like a fool for taking your old band of adventurers on a wild goose chase. They trusted you to divine the secret’s location, and you let them down. Was it worth driving your party’s leader mad, causing him to attempt to murder you in a fit of frustration when you led them astray one too many times? Did you feel proud knowing that you egged on his self-centered ambitions by telling him over and over that you were getting closer with each failure?

To give yourself _some_ credit, you did come across some methods of extending your lifespan along the way, temporarily. You’d been alive since the 14th century, not that anyone would guess that by looking at you. Not now, anyway, but soon it would become apparent as your age caught up with you. Your well had run dry, and there may come a time in which you cave and decide to become a lich or some other undead after all, if you _do_ somehow survive the mind flayer parasite. But becoming undead meant losing a little or a lot of yourself, you knew, and you wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. Ironic, considering what Thay was like in modern times, after you fled from the civil war so many years ago.

All you wanted was the same thing anyone else in your party—the original one—did: Eternal youth. To live forever, and to be utterly timeless while doing so; not as a sickly-looking corpse, you decided when you saw all the downsides a little too late in your years of experimentation upon myriad test subjects. All of you wanted perpetual, glorious life, for one reason or another. Even the gnome who denied it, saying that she was only along for the ride to support her dear friends. You saw the longing in her eyes when you told her about the potential. You didn’t _have_ to get her imagination going, but you did.

Now she’s dead because of you, Thomas.

Tears drip from your eyes, covering the surface of the mirror. You wipe it off on your elegant purple robe (you thought twice these days about wearing all red publicly) before putting it away, knowing that you were going to be checking yourself over and over again later to see if any changes had taken place that might indicate ceremorphosis; that you were turning into one of those _things_ that abducted you.

You were off that terrible ship now, you reminded yourself, drying your face with your hand. On another grand adventure to preserve your life with a new group who didn’t know how disappointing you could be, you thought bitterly.

Perhaps you _did_ deserve this. You were a terrible person, Thomas. All your life, you did bad things to make life go your way, and you didn’t care until it started affecting you. You were no better than all of the other corrupt power-seekers back in Thay, nor the madman you followed on your previous journey.

You had no justification to cry for yourself, yet you were, and eventually all your pitiful sniffling and weeping drew the attention of the only other person who was still awake or present at your camp: Gale, the wizard from Waterdeep.

_Dry your eyes, Ilmater, it’ll all be alright,_ you recalled yourself saying playfully to your adoptive nephew—a half-elf named Elganon—back at your new home in Baldur’s Gate whenever he’d cry over something petty. You were telling it to yourself now, so that you’d stop whinging by the time you turned around to face the other man.

He could tell that your eyes were red from sobbing; you saw the look of pity cross his face. You were always judged back home for not being as strong as the other men of Rashemi descent, neither emotionally nor physically. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing about you. He was already quite rude to you when you first met, though that was common of wizards; any one of them worth their salt was an arrogant braggard to some degree. Sorcerers, too. _Especially_ sorcerers.

Still, he hurt your feelings, and though you said there was no harm done, you honestly wouldn’t forgive him for that. You were too proud to do so, and had a penchant for holding grudges, burying them deep down until you could slight your perceived abuser at the next opportunity.

That was how you became a Red Wizard. It wasn’t just because you were talented in magic. You found comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one who achieved the mantle in the same manner.

“Are you alright, Thomas?” Gale asked, actually sounding sincere.

You composed yourself, bringing your hands together below your chest. “Yes,” you said. _No,_ you thought. “I’m perfectly fine.”

It stung you when Gale grinned. You immediately assumed he was ridiculing you. “Your eyes are bloody red, my friend.”

“An illusion created by the crackle of the flames, no doubt.” It was a flimsy excuse, but the one you stood by. “Was there something that you needed?”

“I thought it might be _you_ who needed something. That’s why I came over here to check on you.”

“I don’t need anything from _you_.”

You spoke more sharply than you intended, but you didn’t personally know a spell that rewound time. If you had, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be a few days back, evacuating your family from the city with your newfound knowledge of the mind flayer invasion. You hoped that they were safe, wherever they were. They weren’t on the ship—you knew that much.

“Not even a drink?”

Gale went back to his tent, lifting the flap to retrieve a colored bottle he had stashed away. He shook it, revealing that there was still wine inside of it. Plenty for two people.

You hadn’t had wine since the day you were taken aboard the nautiloid ship, and you already missed the flavor. Plus, you felt terrible, so you would have liked to drown out your sorrows right about now.

“I could use a drink,” you say apprehensively, keeping your head lifted in a haughty posture so that you didn’t appear to be begging or conceding in any way.

Gale poured you a cup and offered it to you before fixing one for himself. How gentlemanly, you thought sarcastically, yet still you took a seat next to him outside of his tent. _After_ he’d placed a blanket down, of course. 

It amused you that he knew you wouldn’t dirty your robes willingly, and that you would have refused to join his side otherwise. You’d seen him sit in the dirt himself like an animal, so the blanket wasn’t for his sake, unless he gotten some sense into his head within the past couple of days. He ought to be taking better care of his appearance while he still had the time to do so. Everyone deserved to love themselves, and to behave like they meant it.

Things became quiet between the two of you for a while after you each had your cups full of wine. You merely sat together and took a drink every now and again, while you pondered something to say, but finding an appropriate topic in your state of mind was difficult.

Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t some special wine with an amazing vintage that Gale had saved; it was just ho-hum wine that peasants drank on holidays at best. Pretty good, for people who’d never tasted better, but you had certainly tasted better on numerous occasions. You didn’t want to tell Gale that, though, unless he got on your nerves. A gift was a gift all the same, and he was technically being a host to you.

Upon emptying the cup, Gale refilled it for you, then transferred the remainder from the bottle into his own cup. Two tall drinks was probably a good place to stop, anyway. There was more wine in your cup than there was in his, and you were silently thankful for his self-sacrifice. You honestly wouldn’t have done the same for him; you needed your wine.

“Where’s the pale elf?” you asked, looking around at the camp when you noticed his absence. 

The nobleman who introduced himself as Astarion was nowhere to be seen—neither hide nor curly light hair. That one always worried you, even more so than the other survivors from the ship that you picked up along the way. He _did_ try to slit your throat, thinking you were out to get him for some insane reason. Why in the world did he believe you could possibly be working with the mind flayers? What an idiot. Were elves always so annoying? The last one you knew was.

“Slipped away about an hour ago,” Gale muttered, taking another sip from his cup. “It’s all for the better. He never sleeps, and I imagine he’d drink up all the wine before we could have even gotten a drop. I hid this bottle from him, and he _still_ found it and drank it half-empty.”

You eyed Gale curiously. Only now did you notice how handsome he was, but maybe that was the drink talking already. “I don’t trust him, do you? Something feels…off about him.”

“Off how?” 

You got the impression he was asking not because he didn’t know what you knew, but because he wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion he did.

“Well, he’s dead, Gale. It’s as clear as day to me. He’s obviously a walking corpse.” You downed the rest of your wine, rubbing along the golden filigree tattoos on your forehead with your fingers and squeezing your eyes shut as you nursed a stress headache. “I thought he might be a vampire, but he walks in daylight, so that can’t be the case.”

“A zombie, perhaps?”

“He’s too smart to be a zombie.” You place an addition onto that statement. “But only slightly.”

“Give him more credit than that, Thomas. He doesn’t seem a _that_ stupid.”

“Compared to us, he is.” You sigh, shaking your head. “Honestly, he reminds me a tiny bit of my nephew, in some ways. He’s a sweet boy when he’s not whinging, but very daft, I’m afraid.”

Gale leaned closer towards you; his interest renewed. “You have a nephew?” You didn’t think he would care about knowing more about your background.

You waved your hand in the air, still cringing over your headache and clenching your teeth. 

“I’m not too keen on being called “uncle”, but he’s taken to calling me that. I’ve helped raise him ever since he was a child,” you explain. “He’s not my kin by blood, only by association. He was dropped into our laps, so to speak, when he was a baby by the former leader of my old adventuring party after we’d retired from our quest. My nephew’s back in Baldur’s Ga—”

Then, you remembered that he _wasn’t_ in Baldur’s Gate. Before you were snatched by the Illithid, Elganon decided he was going to leave home to become a druid; he was done with being brought up to learn necromancy. He was going towards Elturgard, determined to start a new life there.

“Gale, where are we right now?”

“Erm… Our camp out in the forest?”

“I don’t have time for your silly games. Answer me truthfully.”

“Oh, I thought you were getting drunk.” Gale chuckled. “We should be in Elturgard, by my estimations. Why?”

“There’s a druid grove in Elturgard, isn’t there?”

“Yes, and it’s not far from here.”

Standing up rather ungracefully, you clapped your free hand on Gale’s shoulder and handed him back the now-empty cup that he let you borrow. “I’m so happy that I could kiss you.”

He clearly had no idea why you’d say such a thing, and in his apprehension, leaned away from you. “Please don’t. I really don’t need alcohol breath in my face, and we hardly know each other.”

“Fair enough,” you said, holding back your mild disappointment.

Gale set the cups to the side on the ground, next to the glass bottle, before acknowledging you again. “What’s so special about the druid grove?”

“My nephew has _got_ to be there. And if he is, it’s critical that I find him immediately. I need to know that he’s made it all the way here safely.” You frown, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest. “I don’t know why my friends thought it was a wonderful idea to let him go on his own. He’s not a very strong or brave young lad.”

“Why didn’t you stop him from going yourself?” Gale asked. “Or go with him?”

“The thing is, I had no idea he’d left until he was already days away.” The frown on your face became a scowl—not reserved for Gale, but for your friends who should have known better and ought to have told you sooner, rather than keeping it a secret from you for as long as possible.

“You didn’t think to follow after him?”

How dare he judge your actions? He didn’t know what you went through emotionally, nor what your plans were.

“I was _going_ to before the nautiloid came,” you said defensively. “I was in the midst of preparing what I needed for the journey.”

No, you weren’t. You were going about your business back at home, fretting over your lost nephew, yet doing nothing about it. 

It was sad that the very things you bonded with Elganon over—the similarities in your personalities and your common struggles—were exactly what made you so useless and incapable of being there for him when he needed you to be a proper uncle now more than ever. He could be dead on the side of the road, eaten by a wild owlbear, for all you knew. Why did you stay at home, merely hoping he would become afraid and return safely on his own, vowing to never do something so stupid again? Your other two friends weren’t about to go looking for him, so you were the only one who could have done the right thing.

_Would_ it have been the right thing, though?

“There was a time when I was his age, and I wanted to find my own place in the world without people looking over my shoulder or telling me what to do and how to do it,” you admitted, more to yourself than to Gale. “I was just as foolish back then, but I can’t blame him for wanting to figure things out for himself.”

“And if that costed him his life?”

You narrowed your eyes at the wizard. “Then I’ll punish myself for it later.”

Gale raised an eyebrow. “Are you a follower of Loviatar, by chance?”

“This isn’t the best time to jest.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I can never tell when you’re joking or not.”

“Alright, I was only _sort of_ joking. I can’t help it. I like to tell jokes when I’m nervous. Can’t you tell?” There was a sad look in Gale’s eyes, despite his warm smile.

He sometimes made you think of your colleague, whom you lived with still to this day—a fellow Red Wizard named Tabalecus. Then again, you were so homesick that nearly all of your thoughts were on the few people you had left to care for, and a few precious baubles that made you dwell on better times that you knew weren’t actually better.

You never thought you’d end up missing Baldur’s Gate so much, yet the wine you drank revealed this truth to you. Not bad, for mediocre wine. Even the more expensive wines you’d sampled over the years hadn’t done you this much of a service.

“Thank you, Gale,” you say abruptly, not realizing that he wasn’t in on your conversation with yourself.

“For…?”

“For the wine,” you say, wondering if you should give a little more of your scarce honesty. “And the company. Apparently, I needed it.”

“It was obvious to _me_ that you did. I’m not sure how it evaded _you_ ,” he teased, and you exhaled air out of your nostrils exasperatedly at this. “But I did, too. I’d better go to bed. Goodnight, Thomas.”

You smile at him, and just before he disappears inside of his tent, you say, “Goodnight, Gale. Sweet dreams.”

You were still a little cross with him, but you liked him a little more than you did previously. That was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Forever Young by Alphaville


	2. Day 2 - Night Orchid (Astarion/OC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I love writing sappy nonsense. I can't help it.)

* * *

* * *

When your companions turned in for another night’s rest, it was your cue to abscond deeper into the forest in search of the one thing your entire being yearned for more than anything else: Blood.

You were a vampire, and much to your surprise, no one in your party had caught onto that fact. At least, you believed they hadn’t. They eyed you with suspicion, knowing that something was wrong about you, but none could put their finger on exactly what it was. If you could keep them ignorant to your true nature, that would be ideal for your survival.

But sometimes you wished you had someone among them who trusted you. Someone to confide in. Throughout all your life, and even your unlife, you considered yourself to be an independent, needing only yourself. That suited you just fine, for a time, but especially after escaping the clutches of your former master, it occurred to you how lonely you truly were. You were tired of carrying your burdens all by yourself. They were too much for one person to bear. 

Though it pained you to admit it to yourself, you needed someone to be your rock after all that you’d been through. For someone to do that, they needed to know you. The real you. You’d have to make yourself vulnerable by revealing your heart to them, and you weren’t sure you’d ever be ready for that. Not after Cazador exploited your helplessness when you were at your lowest in what should have been the final moments of your life.

You reasoned with yourself that ultimately, you were better off alone. You told yourself that these “silly” feelings would pass, as they often did whenever they manifested, and that you were simply tired and hungry. In life, you got moody when your needs weren’t being met, so you believed it was no different in undeath. You didn’t need friends. After having a bite to eat, you’d be as happy as a clam.

That was the only time you were happy anymore, wasn’t it?

Were you ever truly happy in the first place, at any point in your existence, Astarion?

Pushing the troubling thoughts out of your mind, you continued venturing forth into the unknown depths of the forest, brushing aside foliage, vines, and anything else that blocked your path. You were used to hunting in cities, but with enough practice, you were confident that you’d soon master the outdoors as well. You were an elf, after all, so you imagined it was in your blood.

You gasped as you clumsily tripped over a tree root that jutted out of the ground, but you caught yourself from falling by grabbing onto a branch. It shook the leaves and startled a boar, sending the creature out from hiding. You gave chase, but your legs became sluggish after a time, as if you were wading through thick mud. Your vision blurred and your head throbbed, reminding you of your weariness. The distraction caused you to lose track of where the boar went off to. Its hooves pattered along the grass in the distance, but the echo made it sound as if it could have gone in any direction.

Hopefully, that wasn’t your only option for a meal tonight, otherwise you were surely doomed.

Now, your legs could only trudge forward at a slow pace, and you prayed that you could be stealthy enough in your lightheadedness to sneak up on a more unsuspecting creature. The forest was quieter than usual tonight, much to your detriment. You went further and further, and yet you weren’t picking up on any life that you could properly nourish yourself on. You might have even been going in circles. Everything looked the same here to you.

You thought you were going crazy when you believed you saw a doe knelt in front of what looked to you like a bunch of large weeds. Thistles, maybe?

It turned out that the pointed ears belonged not to a doe, but a half-elf that you recognized as the one that your party picked up at the druid grove. Elganon, you recalled.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” you asked him irritably. “You should be back at the camp.”

This wouldn’t do. You completely forgot he was with your group, and you hadn’t thought to check and make sure that he was in his tent before you left. What if you _had_ caught that boar, and he discovered you in the act of ripping out its throat? How would you possibly have made that problem go away without creating more complications for yourself? He was the nephew of one of your traveling companions, so you couldn’t have simply murdered him to keep your secret.

What a bother. You _knew_ that taking this strange young man along would cause nothing but trouble, but he insisted on coming with to be with his uncle. You always hated family reunions.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elganon confessed, yet he yawned tiredly. “I thought a walk might help my nerves unwind.”

“Do you know how to get back to camp?” you asked.

“I do.”

“Then go back to camp.”

“I will, but not quite yet.”

Your sharp teeth gnashed behind your lips. Your thirst was making you impatient with the half-elf’s stubborn refusal to do as you bid him to.

“Did you also come to see the flowers?” he asked, and you blinked at him, unsure of what he was talking about. “I wasn’t sure if anyone else saw them on our way to the camp, when it was earlier in the day. I knew I’d have to come back here at night to see them again. I hope they are what I believe they are.”

Both of you looked upon the plants once again.

“Those are weeds,” you said. You had no idea if this were the case, but you wanted to dissuade him from lingering here, so that you could return to your business.

“No, they’re not,” he argued. “They’re definitely flowers.”

He glanced back at you and smiled slightly, patting the ground beside himself. He expected you to join him, and although you wanted to decline, what would you tell him that you were actually doing out here at this time of night? You had no better excuses prepared than the one he inadvertently created for you.

So, you sat with him and stared at the mundane plants. Your hunger had subsided a little, in the way that it tended to for the living when they were fasting. It’d be back, but for now, it was fading away as your mind wandered to other things.

“I-I already know a little bit about botany, but the druids were teaching me about some of the species native to Elturgard before Halsin left,” Elganon said after a long silence. He peered at you expectantly, struggling to gauge you interest in the subject.

“That’s nice,” you said in a monotone.

He apparently was now more focused on you than the supposed flowers, and you wished that he’d go back to ogling the weeds. How long would you have to wait here until he got tired and left? He had to sleep eventually. You didn’t.

“Uncle Thomas said you lived in Baldur’s Gate. We live there, too. I live in the Lower City, but his home is in the Outer City.”

“Good for you.”

What did he want from you? What was his aim here?

“Are you originally from Baldur’s Gate?”

You let out a long, drawn-out sigh from your dead lungs.

“I-I’m sorry… I was just trying to make conversation.”

When he turned his attention back towards the plants, you noticed he was drying underneath one eye with a finger. The eyeliner and mascara that he wore—like his uncle did—ran down his cheeks, making it all the more obvious in the dim moonlight that he was crying.

Made uncomfortable by the awkward situation, you hesitantly patted him on the head and sarcastically muttered, “There, there. It’ll be alright. Dry your eyes, Ilmater.”

Suddenly, at hearing your words, he chuckled and was no longer able to cry.

“My uncle tells me that all the time,” he said with a weak smile.

You grin a little in return. “Does he really?”

He nodded. His lovely green eyes lit up in surprise when he spotted movement occurring around the bulbs of the plants.

“Look!” He pointed, and when you turned your head, you saw that those things you called weeds were blooming into beautiful white flowers with long, tapered petals on the outside and stubbier, rounder ones closer towards the center. “I knew it! They’re night orchids! Aren’t they gorgeous, Astarion?”

He remembered your name.

“They are,” you agreed with a child-like wonderment blossoming within you, too, as you crept closer to the open blooms.

He lifted one of the flowers to your face, holding the stem carefully in his delicate pale hand. “Smell.”

You did, expecting your senses to be too dull from undeath to notice the scent, but it was so fragrant that you felt it in your nose, your throat, and it even traveled all the way down to your lungs. It made you feel alive again. 

Before tonight, you’d never known that such a flower existed, and you’d been around for hundreds of years. It made you realize that in all your time spent in this world, you’d experienced so little of what it had to offer. You never stopped to smell the flowers, only to pick them to achieve some ulterior goal. You were always moving, always going somewhere, always in a hurry. In life it was mostly by choice, and in death it was because you were under the command of an impatient master.

When you emerged from your thoughts, Elganon had his own face leaned close to the petals of an orchid that he caressed. Though his skin was nearly as fair as the flower itself, you saw the blush of life upon his tender face, and if your heart could still beat, it would have been racing.

Desiring to know if his skin was as soft as the flower petals, the backs of your fingers brushed across his cheek, and his doll-like eyes opened again, curious as to what you were doing.

“Your hands are cold,” he said, and he took your hands into his own, trying to warm them. His smiled shyly at you.

He was so beautiful. So pure.

Then, a horrible thought crossed your mind.

It was only the two of you here, and if you wanted, you could feed from him right here and now. He was so small and frail that he probably wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. Why care if his uncle mourned the loss of his nephew? After carrion feeders came along and had their fill of the corpse you left behind, it would appear as if he’d been mauled by a wild animal, and no one would know of your deeds.

Why would you think that? What kind of monster were you?

No, you wouldn’t do it. You were a monster, but you weren’t at the same time. You were hungry, but you wouldn’t stoop so low just for a snack, would you?

Of course not.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but you didn’t. Instead, you freed one of your hands to cup his, and stood the both of you up.

“Let’s get you back to camp.”

“Wait. Before we go…”

His hands slipped away from yours, and he bent over to pluck one of the flowers. Getting up on his tiptoes, he inserted the stem behind your ear. You beamed brighter, and picked a flower yourself, doing the same for him.

He held your hand again, and then lead you back towards the camp. Truth be told, he probably knew better where he was going than you did.

You had no idea where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Little white flowers will never awaken you, not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Gloomy Sunday by Billie Holiday


	3. Day 3 - Cheeky Little Pup (Gale POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Some of these entries might not necessarily be what's expected for the prompts. :P )

* * *

* * *

You were always more of a cat person, but you didn’t _hate_ dogs. They were just harder for you to understand. They behaved a lot differently and had quirks unlike a cat’s. Dogs were friendly and all, but you enjoyed the whimsical sense of mischief that a cat had. Canines were clever, but felines were even cleverer. Or so you thought.

Lately, people’s things had been turning up missing, and you suspected it had something to do with the new dog that Elganon brought back to your camp. That was the only thing that had changed recently, and you’d already searched through Astarion’s belongings twice to prove to yourself and everyone else that it wasn’t him. He was furious to be accused as the main suspect of the crime, but could you be blamed when he was always behaving so oddly? Technically, it had been Thomas who confronted him about the matter, but you and Thomas had discussed the possibility privately beforehand, and you might have been the one to suggest Astarion’s name first.

“ _I’m_ the magistrate here!” Astarion roared when Wyll and Lae’zel held him down as you and Thomas rummaged through his pack. “I’m the one who puts people on trial, not the other way around! Unhand me!”

He kicked and screamed and tried butting Wyll in the head with his own, but he had been rendered utterly harmless. You were amazed that, in all his fury, his face hadn’t turned red as it should have. Thomas was right: The man really was a corpse. You still reserved some doubt about that, until now.

“It’s not him,” Thomas announced, now that the pale elf’s belongings had been strewn all about on the ground.

Scratch, the dog, scampered by, happy with his tongue lolling out, and scooped up Astarion’s hairbrush into his jaws, prancing off with it.

“You mangy mutt!” the elf snapped, attempting once again to tug his arms free. “Give that back! You put that down, right this instant!”

But the dog didn’t listen, and it continued on its merry way with its new prize clenched in its teeth.

You and Thomas followed the dog to figure out where it was going. The dog walked faster, and so did the both of you. It peered over its shoulder, seeing you and Thomas, and broke off into a sprint. You tried keeping up, but the dog was simply too fast and disappeared into the woods.

Bollocks, you cursed to yourself, coming to a halt when you were out of breath. What were you going to do now?

Thomas touched you on the shoulder and nodded as if he had an idea. He was getting more friendly with you, wasn’t he? You’d taken note of the fact that the only other person he’d ever patted on the shoulder or on the back besides you was his nephew, but he kept his distance with everyone else.

“I’ll use a divination spell,” he said, bringing a finger to his temple as he murmured a spell to locate the dog.

“Catching up with the pup is going to be the hard part,” you mumbled, keeping your voice low so as to not interrupt his casting. You snapped your fingers. “We won’t have to run; we can sneak up on him with an invisibility spell.”

Thomas grinned at you. “Good idea. I have Scratch’s location. He’s stopped running. Follow me.”

Almost in unison, you and Thomas waved your hands and said an incantation that rendered each of you invisible to the naked eye, even to each other. However, you could still follow the sound of Thomas’ footsteps and the rustle of foliage as you crept through the brush, careful not to create too much noise that might alert the dog.

“You see, this is why we never let Elganon have a dog back home,” Thomas whispered to you. “That and the fact you can’t own a dog in Baldur’s Gate.”

“He should’ve taken the dog with him when he went foraging with Shadowheart,” you said. “The least he could do is keep his eye on it. It’s his dog.”

Thomas sighed. “I agree, but he doesn’t consider these things. He treats animals as if they were people and lets them do as they will.”

“You said he can speak to them, right?” you asked.

“He _claims_ that he can, at any rate.” You could hear the skepticism in Thomas’ voice. “I know that you and I both are aware of spells that allow one to do that, but I doubt he knows any such spell. Honestly, I’m worried that the boy’s a bit touched.”

“For someone you claim to care so much about, you certainly speak a great deal of ill about him.” Your path was blocked when you bumped into something, and you realized that it was Thomas, who’d stopped walking. You got the feeling that he was looking straight at you, though you had no proof of this.

“I never speak _ill_ of my nephew. I’m _concerned_ for him. He never knows what’s in his best interest, and he has a tendency to walk straight into trouble,” Thomas argued with a weary tone. “Have you noticed how he lets Astarion prowl around him? I don’t know what that elf’s got on his mind, but whatever it is, it can’t be good. I’ve told Elganon over and over again to tell Astarion to leave him alone, but he doesn’t. He says: ‘Astarion’s nice. He’s been nothing but polite to me, and he’s funny.’ Elganon’s been too sheltered all his life, so he has no idea when a person he’s dealing with has ulterior motives.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle over your companion’s ranting. “I don’t trust Astarion, either, but you have to admit that every time we’ve suspected him of doing something untoward, he’s been innocent so far.” Your grin widened, and you were a bit glad that he couldn’t see it, nor could you see the frustrated scowl on his face that you had a hunch was there. “Besides, your nephew is only mortal, and for a corpse, Astarion’s not all that bad-looking—”

“Gale, don’t say it. I don’t even want to _imagine_ that—”

“Everyone has needs, Thomas, and all birds have to leave the nest eventually.”

Thomas let out a heavy sigh. “But he’s had so many opportunities to meet someone _nice_ and _well behaved_ in Baldur’s Gate.”

“He _did_ say that Astarion was being cordial to him, didn’t he?”

“ _For now_.”

“Yes, for now,” you agreed. “Listen, if something goes wrong, I’ll do whatever I can to make it right. I’ll help you look after your nephew while he’s staying with us, alright?”

“You would?” Thomas hesitated; you sensed he had more to say. “In exchange for what?”

“Nothing,” you laughed. “I’m not a merchant; I’m not bartering with you. I’m saying that I’ll be there to support you. You know, as a friend?”

He either wasn’t saying anything, or he had somehow slipped off without a sound.

But then, he spoke again, after a while.

“You consider me to be a friend?”

Why all the suspicion, you wondered? What could have made Thomas so paranoid and leery of everyone?

“Well…” You shuffled your feet in the dry fallen leaves. “At the very least, we’re headed that way, I should think.”

“Are we, now?”

“Don’t _you_ think so?”

Thomas hummed ponderously, seemingly undecided, and you heard his footsteps begin again. Right, the dog. You probably _should_ go and see about the dog. The conversation could be continued later, unless it was Thomas’ intention to avoid delving into the subject further.

Upon encountering the dog, you caught it digging up one section of a patch of raised dirt. When the realization of where you’d arrived at and what Scratch was doing hit you, your heart sank. This was where you and your crew buried the courier, the dog’s former owner, who had been mauled by gnolls. For one reason or another, Scratch was stealing things from the camp to present them as gifts for the deceased man.

“Hells,” you sighed, frowning out of pity for the forlorn creature. Your invisibility spell dissipated, and the one that veiled Thomas was quick to follow.

The dog whimpered at you when you knelt before it and scratched behind its ear. It came closer, butting its head against your abdomen lightly and hiding its face there, snorting once in a sniffle.

“I know,” you said sympathetically. “But taking our things and bringing them here isn’t going to make him come back. And trust me, you don’t want my friend here trying. It’s not pretty, and your master wouldn’t be as you remembered him.”

Thomas folded his arms and glowered, unamused with how you’d decided to make light of the grim situation. You hadn’t meant to offend him, but you spoke the truth. Necromancy was a very dangerous and unpredictable method of bringing back a loved one, and it almost never panned out well.

You moved over to the grave, and just as you were about to start taking out the items the dog had deposited there, Scratch let out a low, warning growl at you.

“Shoo, dog,” said Thomas, getting ready to cast some spell.

“Thomas, leave the poor dog alone. He’s been through enough,” you reminded him.

“I don’t want him biting you,” he explained, though the glow of magic disappeared from his fingertips.

You smiled slightly at the fact that he was concerned for your safety. “I can handle myself, but thank you.”

Patting your thigh, you got Scratch to come to you again, and you went back to petting him, easing some of the animal’s tension. You bent over and nuzzled top of his head. He licked your face, making you laugh, and then he rolled over onto his back on the ground, wriggling around until you patted him on the belly.

“Good dog,” you said, convinced you’d cheered him up.

“I can’t believe you let it lick your face like that.” Thomas grimaced. “It’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, I’ll live.”

The dog didn’t mind so much now when you took back the items that belonged to your party, but he did still try to get your attention the entire time. He wanted to play with you, now that he knew you liked him. He kept pawing at your arm, and at one pointed let out a bark.

“Yes, yes. We’ll play some more when we get back to the camp,” you assured him, gathering everything you found into your arms. With your foot, you tapped the loose soil back into place. It felt wrong robbing a grave, but technically it was less of a robbery and more of a repossession of stolen goods.

Flanked by Thomas and Scratch, you returned to camp to find Astarion ranting and raving at Elganon about how his uncle had accused him of being a thief, and how he ought to have words with him. The poor half-elf looked so overwhelmed by the assertion that a confrontation needed to take place that all he could do was nod his head repeatedly, wide-eyed and wringing his hands, as he listened attentively to the incensed elf’s rambling.

The scowl returned to Thomas’ face as he looked down his nose at Astarion, despite being several inches shorter than the elf. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t _bark_ at my nephew.”

Astarion came over to stand almost toe-to-toe with Thomas, wrists on his hips as he leaned down to eye-level with the human wizard. “And I would appreciate it if _you_ didn’t blame everything on _me_ at every given opportunity!”

“Then stop sneaking away from camp at night and start behaving like a normal person!” Thomas snapped, pointing a finger up at him.

“ _Oh_ , look who’s talking!”

“Settle down, you two.” You walked up to Astarion and gave him back his hairbrush.

After taking it into his hand and turning it around, his brow wrinkled. “Why in _Hells_ is it covered in _dirt_!?”

“The dog tried to bury it, along with this other stuff,” you told him, lifting your arms a little to show all the other items you were carrying.

Astarion glared down at the dog, who only tilted his head at the elf. “Cheeky little pup. I ought to—”

“He didn’t know any better, Astarion,” you said. “But we’ll try to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

Astarion sulked, persistent about playing the victim. “My hairbrush is _ruined_.”

“It’s salvageable. Get over yourself. It just needs a good wash,” you insisted, turning on your heel to deliver the rest of the items to their rightful owners.

Behind you, you heard Elganon’s voice saying to Astarion, “I-I _like_ your hair when it’s messy, personally…”

“Messy!?” the elf gasped. “Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get it looking like this on _purpose?_ And you call it _messy?_ ”

Apparently, both you and Thomas couldn’t help but snicker.

When you glanced down, you saw that the dog was following close to your side, wagging his tail contentedly, as you went to ask Shadowheart—now that she’d returned with Elganon—if she recognized anything you were holding as her own. 

Scratch sadly wasn’t a cat, but perhaps dogs had more of the traits that you appreciated in common with felines than you originally gave them credit for. He had a little mischief in him, after all.

You still missed your cat, but there may be room in your heart for Scratch, too, even if he was a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You sit by me, and I scratch your back. You lick my hands, then I get a rash, but that's okay because we, we are a team. You make a mess, and then I clean."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Sometimes I Don't Mind by The Suicide Machines


	4. Day 4 - Join Me or Die (Cazador/OC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There's gonna be a bit of timeline skipping around in this series depending on what the daily prompts are. This one jumps ahead pretty far, but I had fun writing it when I thought of the idea. It'd be great if this were an option in the game, but I really doubt it will be. I can dream.)

* * *

* * *

Necromancy was the school of magic that was often the most frowned upon in many civilizations around Faerûn, and as a result, necromancers either lived hermetic lifestyles or conspired together. You were the sort who tended to keep to yourself in your private life, but as a performer, people knew your name and sought you out frequently.

One night, after the debut of the new opera you’d sang in—playing the role of the main villain, as usual, but you reveled in being a “big, scary tiefling”—you were approached by a pair of men, whom you assumed to be a married couple that came for your autograph and a quick word. Of course, the three of you did have a chat and you signed their playbills, but then they asked you about your “other hobby”.

_“Other hobby?”_ you asked.

_“There’s no need to be coy,”_ said the younger of the two men—the one that looked like a deity with his handsome bronze skin and toned body laden with jewelry. _“We know you dabble in necromancy. You have that aura about you.”_

_“Not to worry. Yer among kindred spirits,”_ said the older man with gray hair; he was a lot more rugged in his appearance and dressed like a commoner—a scandalous thing at such a formal event, but you appreciated his boldness, in a way _. “Eheheheh. Kindred spirits.”_

The old man elbowed his companion, who cringed at the joke and shoved his arm away.

_“How would you like to become an associate of ours?”_ the more fanciful man offered. _“Our kind do better together than apart in this city.”_

You stroked your long, bushy dark brown beard as you turned the idea around in your mind, examining it from various angles before you decided. _“Hm… Perhaps. It could be useful to know fellow practitioners of our…art here in Baldur’s Gate.”_

The elder of the pair grinned wickedly, pleased by your answer. _“Let’s schedule a “rehearsal”, then.”_

_“Let’s,”_ you agreed, smirking back.

As someone who often got type casted into playing a cambion throughout your acting career, you were accustomed to being the one who made devilish deals. It was an interesting change of pace to be on the receiving end of such a bargain. But as it turned out, you sacrificed little in exchange for the knowledge they offered you. You were already a wicked and vulgar man, unlike so many of the other tieflings that disgusted you with how pitifully they bowed to the ways of “polite society” in this world, so there was almost nothing that they could ask of you that you would not do gladly. In fact, you were almost disappointed to find that they had more of a conscience than you did.

Although, you should have expected that one day, they would come to you, asking you to repay all those favors they did for you over the years in one lump sum, Dobrogost.

“We need you to come with us to Tumbledown,” said Thomas, the younger of those two men.

“I thought you were _afraid_ of stepping foot into Tumbledown after they raised the security at the Cliffside Cemetery,” you pointed out, curious to know what rekindled this interest in the largest graveyard in all of Baldur’s Gate when he and his partner had decided years ago that it wasn’t worth the risk, when there were smaller, safer sites to plunder. The tinier sites also usually belonged to wealthier families and people of greater note, whereas Tumbledown’s graveyard had become a dumping ground for the poor and forgotten especially.

“That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

He’d better not be _telling_. You don’t like being told to do _anything_. Even your stage director couldn’t tell you what to do if you didn’t find it agreeable.

Thomas clasped his hands together, shaking them pathetically. “I’m _begging_ you, Dobrogost. I know you’re an extremely busy man, but it’s important that we handle this matter _now_.”

“What matter?”

He beckoned you to bend down to his height, and you permitted him to whisper into your pointed ear. “Did you know that the _entire_ time we used to scavenge that graveyard, that it was being haunted by a vampire patriarch?”

The new knowledge shocked you. “You know, I always had the impression that we were being watched when we visited that site. Why do you suppose we were never attacked by said creature?”

“That’s exactly why I want you to join me when we go there: Perhaps he was intimidated by the thought of attacking a group of skilled necromancers directly,” Thomas explained. “That might be why were only ever besieged by lesser undead, and not the man himself.”

You nodded, seeing the wisdom in his train of thought. “And what are our goals here? Do you seek to make a deal with him? Kill him?”

“Whatever it takes to get him off our backs. He’s been sending his lackeys to pester us ceaselessly since we returned to the city. It ends tonight.”

You wondered: When the act concluded and the curtain fell, would Thomas regret choosing to bring you along for such a task?

* * *

It was only when the crumpled body was bleeding out on the floor that you recognized the man. He was a regular at the theater you performed at, and he even kept a private box reserved all year-round. You didn’t know his name, and he never once met you face-to-face after your shows, though you had asked for him—something you rarely ever do, yet the mystery about him sparked your curiosity. Despite your efforts, he would not convene with you directly.

However, he would, on occasion, send someone to deliver you letters, in which he wrote that he enjoyed your performances greatly, complimenting the passion in your delivery and deep, rich voice as you sang. Once, you gave one of the messengers your autograph to send back to him, but you had no idea if he ever received it or not.

So, the enigmatic admirer’s name was Cazador Szarr. There were a lot of rumors surrounding that name, but you were never sure which were true, nor which were false.

What a pity that he should die as soon as you learned of his identity.

“Allow me to deliver the final blow,” said Astarion, the man’s apparent vampire spawn who held a grudge with him. He licked his dagger—coated with the blood of Cazador’s minions that he had slain—as he drew nearer to his former master, fiery hatred burning in his crimson eyes.

You grabbed him by the frills of his collar, yanking him backwards. He hadn’t expected that, and neither had you.

“What are you doing!?” Astarion squirmed, but you were much stronger than he was. “Let me go, devil!”

“I’m not finished with him,” you said firmly.

“ _You!?_ This is between _me_ and _him_. I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

You began to sing a melody in the language of magic, and he could not help but walk away in the other direction when you let go of him, as if hypnotized. He returned to fighting off the rest of Cazador’s underlings, along with the rest of your party, blissfully unaware that his master was laying helpless in a hidden location he’d slunk away to when his wounds became too severe in the heat of battle. 

You had compelled Astarion to forget that the two of you chased Cazador down when you spotted him fleeing in the form of a cloud of vapor that was barely visible in the thick fog that permeated in the area. Now you were alone with Cazador completely at your mercy, and no one to stop you from doing as you wished.

Cazador lifted his head, having to squint as he peered up at you to see your face clearly. “You’re the opera singer, aren’t you?” He made a slight chuckling sound. “I can’t tell if I’m hallucinating, or if this is reality.”

“This is all very real,” you answered, kneeling over him. 

You touched the wound that went deep past his ribs, and channeled necromantic energies from your palm to mend the dead flesh. He was still too weak to get up, but you may have prevented him from losing consciousness or becoming more delirious from blood-loss. His head bobbed, strands of raven black hair sticking to the small open cuts in his face. Seizing him by the shoulders, you propped him up against the stone wall, allowing him to at least sit upright as he faced you.

Sitting down in front of him, you relaxed your arms across your knees, careless to the fact that your motley crew were locked in combat outside the room. What did you care if any one of them perished? You might miss Thomas a little, but that was about it.

“You’re helping me.” Cazador sounded surprised, regaining some of his composure. “I don’t imagine it’s purely because of my patronage of the arts.”

“No,” you admit in a lackadaisical tone, shrugging. “But that is one reason.”

Stroking his own hair back behind his head with his fingers, Cazador folded his hands in his lap, leaned his head back against the wall, and sniffed, no doubt feeling the blood running down his nostril. Despite how battered he was, he pretended to appear totally dignified as he stared you down in a way that mirrored your indifference, perhaps thinking you were equals in this moment, even when you had the upper hand. If he so much as inched toward you, you would split his head in two with your greatsword.

“What is it you want from me, then?” he inquired grimly, preparing for an answer he wouldn’t like.

“To know you,” you said in response.

His thin eyebrows raised. He thought you were playing games with him, but he couldn’t figure out what kind. “You’ve been talking to my Astarion, haven’t you? That little monster you just saved me from.”

You grin. “He’s an interesting character.”

Cazador’s scarlet eyes rolled. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“Oh? And how might you describe him?”

“He’s a foolish little boy, that’s what he is.”

“He nearly gutted you like a fish a few moments ago.”

“I know.” Cazador sniffed again when the blood began streaming out, rolling down his lip and into his mustache. “You spared me a great deal of embarrassment.”

He glanced down at his tunic, thumbing at the gaping hole in the fabric where you’d healed his laceration, and scoffed at the damages to his attire more so than the state of his body. He knew that, given enough time and blood, he would fully heal on his own. His fine clothes wouldn’t, though.

“Stupid boy,” he spat, bitter about the unexpected way in which his slave had returned to him.

“I would say that he’s earned his freedom, wouldn’t you?”

When he looked at you again, he was wide-eyed and mortified by your suggestion. “ _What?_ ”

You held out your arms in a shrug, keeping up your act of apathy. “Seems a fair trade for your continued existence, no?”

“So, _that’s_ what you really want?”

“I told you what I want. However, freeing Astarion from eternal servitude would seem to be the _smart_ thing to do.”

He laughed at you. “Hah! _Smart_. Do you _really_ think that he would become _less_ of a threat to me if I did what you ask? No, he would become even _more_ capable of cutting me down, and he most certainly would.”

You frowned with disagreement written on your salmon-hued face. “No, he will not.”

“You sound so sure of yourself. What makes you believe that?”

Scooting closer towards him, you prod him in the chest with your finger, careful not to pierce him with the claw-like nail. “Because _you_ are going to help _me_ … _us_ with a problem, and he will need you. He won’t like it, but he will have no choice but to tolerate your presence. And _after_ you have assisted us, your debt will be considered fully repaid, and you are free to do whatever you like. Kill Astarion if you want to. I don’t care. Just do it _afterwards_. Not a moment sooner.”

Now he was _really_ taken aback. “What do you mean? What sort of “problem” are you talking about?”

“I’ve been infected with a mind flayer parasite, and so has he. So has everyone in his group, as far as I’m aware.”

“Ah…” 

The look on his face gave you the impression that he might not have entirely understood what that meant. You barely understood it yourself, but when the subject came up when you were asking Thomas where he’d been as of late on the way to Tumbledown and he described his capture and subsequent affliction, it became apparent to you that what was going on inside your own head was more concerning than a reoccurring headache and nausea. The strange thing was, you don’t remember when or how you could have gotten infected, but when your mind briefly became linked with Thomas’, you knew that something had happened to you recently.

That crawling feeling in your brain wasn’t your imagination. Something was there. Alive. It had made its home in your skull. And yet, knowing that a worm could very well be boring through your brain with the passing of time, you refused to let yourself panic. You were putting on a performance, not for an audience this time, but for yourself. You had to convince yourself that everything was going to work out fine. Things always went your way, with enough assertiveness and brute force. If, in the end, you had to crack open your own skull and rip the worm out with your bare hands, you would, if there were no better options.

And if you had to strongarm your way into this adventuring party and drag a powerful vampire lord along with you like a mad dog on a leash to find a cure for yourself, you would do that, too. Once you had your mind set to something, nothing could dissuade you. You’d better enjoy that freedom while it lasted. It might already be too late.

“To make a long story short, if this… _thing_ inside of us reaches maturation, we will perish, supposedly,” you clarified to the best of your ability. “Rather violently, too.”

Cazador mulled over your explanation, possibly considering it to be an inconvenience for this fate to befall his pet spawn, Astarion. He apparently wanted the man back rather badly, as you were told. “And how, exactly, am I meant to help?”

“Bite things, fight things. Only, not with anyone in the group this time. At least, not for the duration of our quest.” You were finding great humor in this, whereas he was not. “The others do not know it yet, but we are going to be joining them on their grand adventure to deal with these little brain worms. Wherever they go, we shall be going, too. I’ve been feeling cooped up in the theater as of late, anyway. I could use a vacation. You probably need one as well. Vampires don’t often leave their territory, do they?”

His face was contorted in a grimace, not liking your idea one bit. “Sunlight tends to be a problem, among other things.” You suspected that wasn’t at the top of his list of reasons he wanted to avoid this arrangement, but that _was_ something that could be considered a deterrent.

“We’ll travel at night, and sleep by day.”

“Am I expected to drag my coffin along for this journey? That shouldn’t look conspicuous,” he quipped.

“From what I know of your kind, all you should need is a tent to shield you from the sun’s rays and a pack full of dirt in place of your coffin.”

“I am _not_ roaming around with a bag full of dirt on my back.”

You held up a couple of fingers. “You have two options, Lord Szarr: Join me or die.” Drawing your sword from its scabbard, you placed the blade to his neck and awaited an answer. “Well?”

There was a low grumble from his throat. “Fine. Very well. If any of my minions yet live, I will call them off.”

Satisfied, you sheathed the sword back inside of its ornate holster and nodded approvingly. “A wise decision from a wise man with very good taste in art.”

“Don’t push your luck, tiefling.”

You gave him a devilish smile, displaying your teeth. “Pushing is how I get my way, vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't sing if you want to live long. They have no use for your song."
> 
> Recommended Listening: You're Dead by Norma Tanega


	5. Day 5 - A Legend in the Making (Wyll POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry that I'm so behind on these and my other works. IRL has been heck in a handbasket still, but all things pass in time. I'm just doing as much as I can when I can and not giving up.)

* * *

* * *

There was more to being a monster hunter than what was in the title, so you’d learned over the years. Your life was certainly easier when all you needed to do to save the day was slay them, but sometimes they had to be captured and minded until you could deliver your quarry to whomever put out the bounty. This situation was different, though. You weren’t delivering the monsters in your group to anybody, you were acting as their babysitter as you traveled across Faerûn for a cure to your mind flayer tadpole problem. You weren’t alone in this task, but you often felt like the only sensible person among your whole lot.

Thanks to the idiocy of your unwanted new tiefling companion, you had yet _another_ monster in tow, and this one was more dangerous and unpredictable than the last. _Was_ , until the monster turned his vampire spawn into a _true_ vampire like himself. Not by choice, but by force. Of course, with Astarion being the hothead that he was, the moment this was done, he immediately tried to go back on his word that he’d abstain from killing his old master until the end of their quest, and you had to help pull Astarion and Cazador apart before they could slaughter one another. It wasn’t the first, nor the last time such squabbles occurred between the two.

Now that all of you were traveling once again on the road in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the lamps and spellwork your party wielded, you tried not to look Cazador directly in the face while his ego seemed so deflated. You tried to pry Astarion off him sooner, but his former spawn had gotten a few good cheap shots in and left the man battered with a painful-looking black eye. 

Cazador deserved it; he was a horrible and sick man, but Dobrogost, the tiefling, had been right to say that his power could come in handy for the adventure ahead. You had no idea what greater threats you might face along the way, and at least Cazador was someone who could be sacrificed if it came to that. You didn’t have to like the fact that he was there, nor did anyone else, but you had to admit that he could be useful. The hard part was ensuring that he, and the other monsters in your party, remained leashed.

You were the Blade of Frontiers, hero known across the realms. If you couldn’t do it, who else could? Probably a lot of people whose tales were greater than yours, but that was exactly why you had to prove to yourself and the world that you could accomplish something like this. Or maybe you had to spin it to yourself that way to ease your conscience. It didn’t sit right with you, hanging out with monsters as if they were your friends, but like Cazador, this was a matter you had no choice in if you wanted to survive. You had to survive. Your story couldn’t end like this. You wouldn’t become a mind flayer. You couldn’t become a monster yourself. It’d ruin everything you had already accomplished, and you still had so much more left to do.

Realizing that you hadn’t glanced over at Cazador in a few moments now to check up on him, you were shocked to find out that he was suddenly missing from your marching line. You felt sick when dread clutched at your organs, but overhead you saw a flock of bats flutter across the sky, and you knew in an instant where he’d gone. He thought he could sneak away unnoticed with them. It was almost a clever idea. You confused your group when you sprinted after the flock, and panic ignited among them when it became apparent what was amiss.

“ _Idiot!_ ” you overheard Astarion shout at the tiefling as you dashed away. “You said that you would _watch_ him!”

The tiefling made a sound of disapproval. “I thought that _you_ might be watching him, what with him being your nemesis and all! Perhaps you should spend less time making doe eyes at your precious little bauble.” Dobrogost must have been referring to Elganon; he often spoke of people as if they were things to be possessed or acted upon rather than creatures of free agency.

By the time Thomas began chewing the tiefling out, you were too far away to hear any more of the conversation. 

Once you caught up with the bats, you took aim at the one you knew had to be Cazador, thanks to some supernatural intuition you had as a warlock, and shot from your hands a dark bolt of magic that sent the bat plummeting to the ground, shifting into his humanoid form as he landed. Though his limp frame smoldered, he was still perfectly alive. Undead, rather.

“How did you know which one was me?” he wheezed hoarsely when he pulled his face out of the dirt.

You shrugged your shoulders at him as you drew near. “Call it a hunch. I aimed for the one that seemed the most ostentatious of the lot,” you joked, though he didn’t find your deflective answer so amusing. You offered him a helping hand, but unsurprisingly, it was slapped away as the former vampire lord struggled to stand on his own.

There were a lot of things about Cazador that reminded you of Astarion, giving you the notion that he was the source and inspiration of many of Astarion’s mannerisms. It was probably for the better not to bring that up with either of the elven men. You couldn’t help but wonder who was the first to start referring to people, sarcastically or otherwise, as “darling” or “my dear”, though.

“You know, it’s funny,” you said, rocking on the heels of your boots with your hands on your hips, “I could’ve _sworn_ that you hadn’t fed anytime recently, yet here you are using your powers. I wonder how?” The night was dark, but the cynicism was as clear as day in your voice. “I notice you’ve been hanging around a lot with the tiefling.”

Cazador scoffed at the accusation, waving a hand in a shooing motion, but you weren’t going anywhere. “Not intentionally, I assure you. That boar of a man never leaves me be.”

“Astarion told me that you used to be a fan of his.”

Instinctively, you looked the other way when Cazador cast his sharp eyes in your direction. He should have been too exhausted to be capable of hypnotizing you, but you weren’t taking your chances counting on that again. He was extremely manipulative, so he could have easily been faking his weariness to get you and everyone else to lower their guard. It worked earlier. Your devil patron Mizora should also be able to protect you from his wiles, but whether or not she helped you in times of need was always up to a coin toss. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Dobrogost and I hadn’t known each other on a personal level back then, but yes,” Cazador confessed. It was in his nature to pace and to prowl, but the moment he started that around you, you stopped it by placing your hand on the hilt of the blade at your hip. “I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I still delight in his songs and performances, but I am no admirer of his outside of the theater.”

_He’s lying_ , said the voice of Mizora herself in your mind. Think of the devil, and she shall appear, when she wished to, that is. _The best place to throw in a lie is when you’re in the middle of telling a half-truth._

“That’s funny coming from you,” you uttered without thinking. You were so used to talking to Mizora in this way that you sometimes forgot it puzzled the people around you when you did it while others were present.

Cazador snarled, showing his fangs while posturing in a scandalized fashion. Truly, you were more and more _convinced_ that Astarion was the one to get his gestures from this man, and it was entertaining to see the parallels in their behaviors. “What have I said that’s so amusing to you, warlock? What do you imagine the nature of my relationship with that lumbering oaf to be?”

He was getting bizarrely defensive, you noticed, practically giving you the rope to hang him with, so to speak.

_You don’t think—_ Mizora cut off her own words with a giggle. _Quite a lot of romantic tension going on in your party, Wyll. A pity for you to be so left out_.

You frowned heavily at your cambion patron’s taunting.

_Don’t worry_ , she said. _You’ll always have me_.

That was what you feared, honestly. You felt trapped with her. Forever. You really did envy some of the others in your crew as unexpected love affairs blossomed between some of them. How nice it would have been if you could be made free in the same way, even if it was only temporary and dwindled away by the time your quest was over with. In a bittersweet way, the knowledge that your complicated desire for Mizora would be rekindled again, as it continually was every time you thought you’d had enough of her wicked ways, brought you a small amount of comfort. At least the nights wouldn’t always be completely lonely.

But you had to admit, it was frustrating to think that even men as undeserving of love as Cazador and Dobrogost might find it in each other’s arms. You had no proof that they _were_ involved in that way, but it was the mere _possibility_ that bothered you. You were used to the world being a horribly unjust place. That’s exactly why you dedicated your life to bringing justice. Good people deserved for good things to come their way, and evil people needed their comeuppance. If you could play some small role in ensuring that, you’d be happier for it. That’s what you told yourself whenever you doubted that anything you did was really making a difference.

Cazador’s fingers snapping in front of your face woke you up to reality again. He must have seen the glazed-over look in your natural eye. “Falling asleep on the job again, monster hunter?”

“N-No, just thinking,” you stammered, shaking your head. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re getting along with at least _someone_ in our group; it makes traveling together easier. It’d be even simpler if you stopped trying to run away. There’s not much point in running away from your troubles, you know. It’s better to face them head-on.”

“My _trouble_ is that I’m being held captive by you cretins,” the vampire hissed. “If I could be free of you, my troubles would cease to exist.”

He had a point, but you felt he was overlooking the silver lining to his situation. “It’s not like we’re beating you senseless every night. Sure, you’re only allowed to feed from animals, but we’ve been keeping Astarion from badgering you to the best of our ability and we _try_ to treat you like anyone else in our party. And you might gain something of value on our adventure, if you gave it as much of a chance as we’re giving you.”

The twitch of his bruised eyelid told you that he disagreed with your claim that you were protecting him from his vengeful ex-slave, but he went on to say, “Name something of value that I might obtain from this wild goose chase you’re dragging me on that I couldn’t have gotten my servants to bring to me before you ruined my existence.”

You had to think on this for a moment. “You’re a poet, aren’t you?”

“Correct.”

“When’s the last time you’ve seen much of the world?”

Cazador fell silent as he considered the question. “…It _has_ been quite some time…”

“There’s a reason so many bards spend nearly their entire lives traveling,” you pointed out. “It gives them new experiences to draw inspiration from. All the better when they tag along with different sorts of folk, especially if they’re the types they normally wouldn’t choose to spend time with. Makes you see the world from a totally different point of view sometimes.”

Were you saying this to him, or more to yourself?

“Hm… I see your point,” he conceded reluctantly, turning away from you to contemplate your advice. It must have been hard for someone so powerful and seasoned to admit to themselves when someone younger than them might have had something of merit to say.

“I realize that you probably feel like a fish out of water, being stuck with us and all that. So do I, honestly,” you admitted. “I’m supposed to be a monster hunter, not a monster…confidant. It’s not a situation I’d put myself in willingly, either, but it’s given me a lot to think about.”

Cazador glanced over his shoulder at you, grinning sardonically. “And has it “changed” your opinions on our kind? On monsters?”

You kicked the toes of your boots against the ground, shuffling awkwardly, as you didn’t know how to answer without offending. “Haven’t decided yet. I’m still reserving my judgment until I know what it is the monsters are going to do when given a chance to prove that they don’t _all_ deserve a beheading.” You smirked in return, but only a little. “Anyway, what you do from here on out is up to you. But try and take off again, and I might put a little more power behind the next blast. The last one was just a warning shot.”

“Duly noted,” Cazador murmured dourly, following you as you caught up with your traveling group, coming into range of their lanterns and the magical light that Gale had radiating around himself to guide your path forward. Though Cazador probably wasn’t looking forward to it, you were prepared to smooth his attempted escape out with the others. You’d made excuses for monsters before, as ashamed as you were to admit it.

And what would you do if the monsters _did_ prove you wrong in your suspicion that they all had to be slain for the protection of the common folk? You doubted that was the case. You were already bracing yourself for the expected day in which you’d have to put down Cazador, Astarion, and whomever else revealed themselves to be a fiendish creature beyond saving.

But what if you were wrong? How might that change your growing legend as the Blade of Frontiers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now, I can't see where you comin' from, but I know just what you're runnin' from. And what matters ain't the "who's baddest", but the ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder."
> 
> Recommended listening: Short Change Hero by The Heavy


	6. Day 6 - Grove's Guardian (Halsin/OC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I didn't set out for this to become a shippy chapter, and yet that's what happened. I keep stumbling and falling into ships by accident, apparently.)

* * *

* * *

It took you ages of hitching rides on wagons and walking until your feet became sore and blistered, but finally, you’d made it to the druid grove in Elturgard. You knew this had to be the place, as you’d secretly observed one of the druids—whose attire made no secret of their craft—come and go through the hidden gate obscured by the foliage surrounding it. 

You were surprised when, upon finally working up the courage to approach the gate with your bag slung over your shoulder, a small group of tieflings poked their heads over the ledge at the top. They were just as surprised to see you as you were to see them, and if it weren’t for their sudden appearance, you’d have never known that there were archers with bows at the ready up there this entire time.

The tieflings murmured amongst each other before one of the men turned his head back to acknowledge you again. “Are you a merchant? A friend of Halsin’s?” he called out to you with his hands cupped together.

“I-I don’t know who that is!” you cried out in return, but your voice was terribly hoarse and cracked, both from anxiety and exhaustion. “Is this the druid grove? I’m looking to become a druid! I don’t really have anything to sell, but—"

The tiefling blinked his glowing yellow eyes at you. “What?! I can’t hear you! You’ll have to speak louder!”

One of the man’s kin lightly slapped him on the arm and hissed, “Not so loud, Zevlor! You’ll draw the goblins here!”

There were goblins nearby? Well, that was just great. You doubted you’d be able to cross paths with them peacefully, as much as you hoped that could be a possibility.

“Pl-Please let me in!” you yelled, jumping up and down while waving your arms desperately. They still couldn’t hear you, but hopefully they could take a good guess as to what you wanted via your body language. You kept gesturing at the gate to get your point across.

The one called Zevlor sighed, rubbing his forehead between his large horns. “Go fetch Halsin,” he grumbled tiredly to one of the archers. “We’ll see what he says about letting this one in.”

As you waited, you nervously fidgeted and clutched the strap of your bag while staring down the archers, who watched you just as intently. You hoped that your elven blood would make you seem more like you belonged here, but you doubted that since you were only half-elven and most people could tell that by your stubby pointed ears, despite your smooth beardless face.

Eventually, the largest elf you’d ever seen appeared at the top of the ledge. He observed you with keen, wizened eyes. His scarred face and serious expression made him appear a little scary to you at first, but after a moment of assessment, his thin lips pulled back into an inviting smile as warm as the sun. Now that you’d seen this softer expression, you realized he was sort of handsome in a way that made your heart tingle, even knowing that he had to be much older than you were. 

There was something about the lingering fatigue in a more mature face that charmed you, probably because it indicated that they knew more about the world than you did, and you were always looking for guidance in your life—someone who you could trust to teach you things you wanted to know and be patient with you as you went about learning them.

Without exchanging a single word, he motioned for one of the tieflings to crank the gate open, allowing you passage before the gate was shut promptly behind you when you entered. Hearing a creak coming from the rungs of the ladder to your right, you waited for the towering elf to reach the bottom before proceeding any further into the grove.

“What’s your name, young one?” he asked, coming to stand close to you. 

It was hard not to want to back away, but you resisted the urge to do so when the elf unwittingly invaded your personal space. He clearly wasn’t _trying_ to be rude, and you didn’t want to come across as being impolite, either. You resented the fact that you knew you were making that terribly worried expression you often got, where your lips would purse, your brow would lift concernedly, and your eyes widened like a frightened doe ready to sprint away.

“E-Elganon,” you stammered, worsening your already dried throat by swallowing hard. You nearly leaped out of your skin when he clapped you on the shoulder with one of his broad hands to try and ease your wracked nerves.

“Well met! I’m Halsin, the First Druid of this grove.” He was grinning at you reassuringly, but you were trembling like a leaf in the wind. Were it not for the gate being closed behind you, you might have dashed right out and hurried all the way back to Baldur’s Gate where you’d came from. He either was oblivious to your skittishness or was ignoring it to make things less awkward for your sake. “Have you also come to seek refuge from the recent attacks on the road?”

“I have now, I suppose,” you uttered. He gave you a strange look, so you explained yourself further. “A-Actually, I wanted to learn druidism. C-Could you teach me, Fi-First Druid?”

Halsin frowned with guilt apparent in his eyes as he motioned for you to follow him deeper into the grove. His hand remained on your shoulder the entire time you walked together past the makeshift encampment the tieflings had set up for themselves here. It didn’t take long for you to become accustomed to Halsin’s touch; despite his stature, he radiated friendliness and his grasp was gentle.

“Unfortunately, you came at a difficult time for us,” he said regretfully, nodding his head at the halfling trader who gave him a slight bow when you went by a great statue of a stag that caught your interest briefly. “I’ve been very busy as of late, so I highly doubt I’d have much time to accommodate a new student.”

Though his honesty was something you were grateful for, the answer disappointed you. Of course, that _would_ be just your luck, wouldn’t it? Nothing ever went right for you. You traveled all the way here for nothing, and your family was going to be embarrassed when you returned home with nothing to show from your abrupt expedition. 

In truth, you were really just trying to run away from home, even though you were well past the age that anyone might consider it “running away from home”. You should have had your own destiny by now, but you didn’t. You still worked for the duergar—Orebos—at his apothecary operating out of an enchanted tower in Baldur’s Gate, exactly as you did since the day you were able to put jars on shelves and herbs into drawers when you were only a boy. Orebos might have been the closest thing you had to a father, having raised you up from a baby, but his ways were too pragmatic and callous for your tender sensibilities. You wanted love, but you weren’t sure he knew the definition of that word.

You feared you’d be stuck robbing graves for “unused organs” and other reagents, mixing tonics, performing backroom surgeries, and stocking shelves for the rest of your life. The grim lifestyle was becoming exhausting for you, and all you wanted was a way out of it before it addled you permanently. Your mind might already be ruined, for all you knew.

“However,” Halsin began, drawing you away from your thoughts. “You’re more than welcome to stay here until the roads are safe to travel again, if you wish. We could always use more helping hands to assist with the influx of refugees we’ve taken in. What are your skills?”

You peeled your glazed-over eyes away from the many tieflings you were strolling by along the way towards the heart of the grove, suddenly aware that not all hope was lost for your dreams.

“I’m a healer,” you replied meekly. “K-Kind of. What I mean to say is: I know a bit about medicine. I wouldn’t call myself an expert, though.”

“Are you?” You both came to a halt in a grassy clearing where animals and most of the resident druids alike roamed. Some of the animals might have _been_ druids, but you couldn’t tell for certain just by looking. “With everything that’s been going on, that’s exactly what we need more of!”

Seeing Halsin’s approving grin made you doubt yourself a little less. You still worried that you’d disappoint him—that you might have gotten his hopes up and that he would expect more than you could give, but for now, his reaction as a relief. You weren’t being turned away completely, and that was something.

But the voice inside your head wasn’t so happy for you. It was almost as if it wanted the outcome you expected: Immediate disappointment and failure.

_Little doll,_ it said, distracting you from what Halsin was saying as he explained the recent history of his grove to you and showed you around the hallowed grounds, introducing you to the animals first, so as to not distract his fellow druids from their routines. _We shouldn’t linger here. Let’s keep going, towards the nearest inn. You needn’t worry about any goblins; you have my boon. Your fascination with druidism is a childish fancy. Embrace the craft that you’ve been taught by your family. Necromancy suits you well. Utilize the power that I’ve bestowed upon you. Take on the life of an adventurer, just as your loved ones did before you. You may doubt you would like it, but it will grow on you, in time._

 _But Lord Murmyr_ , you protested, heartbroken to be told such things by your demonic patron, whom you’ve trusted deeply since your early childhood. _I don’t want any of that. I want a new life. A quiet one. A peaceful one. Every time I leave home, bad things happen to everyone around me. I realize now that it’s not just coincidence: It’s me. You said you wanted me to be happy. I’m not happy seeing people suffer._

_That’s not true, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be. I can feel what you feel through our bond. You enjoy it. Your heart races when those around you fall into despair and madness. There’s nothing wrong with that,_ said your patron, trying to soothe you.

But you remembered the last incident that occurred not so long ago.

_My new neighbors poisoned themselves after they invited me over for tea…_

_Of course they did! They had just lost their child. You did them a favor, really, by letting them confide in you their sorrows in their final moments. Why, if you weren’t serving me, I’m certain that you would have been doing Ilmater’s work, truly. And I think this druid would agree that forces like us are needed to maintain the natural order of things. For what purpose would mortals have to live if there was no strife? The good times would cease to matter. You already have a calling, my dear. You needn’t turn to a new one._

You felt your patron’s anxiety grow when you didn’t immediately answer. Bringing your wrist up to your face, you prepared for the tears you knew were about to start flowing from your eyes. Nearly everything made you cry. You were such a pitiful wretch. How did you ever expect to become anything, much less a druid?

_Don’t cry, my lugubrious prince. Trust in me. I may not be as powerful as the other demon lords, but I’ve always done right by you. We’ll grow together. We must keep helping each other to achieve our greatest potential. Don’t you want that for us?_

“Elganon, are you well?” 

Halsin and another druid were staring at you. The other druid accompanying him now wasn’t as gentle nor kind. She narrowed her eyes at you, scorned by your lack of reverential attention.

“I-I’m sorry,” you muttered. “The journey here left me very tired.” Your gaze lowered to your feet, and you almost took a step back when you saw a snake slithering near them through the grass. Halsin grabbed you by the arm before you could move, halting you.

“Remain still,” he warned, then eyed the female druid. “Kagha, dismiss Teela before she hurts him by mistake.”

Kagha smirked at Halsin. “Teela never strikes by mistake. If she were to attack this young man, it would only be because he was an enemy to the grove, laying in wait. You shouldn’t trust everyone who comes through that gate so easily, First Druid.” She pointed an accusatory finger at you. “I sense that there’s something wrong about this one.”

Halsin’s brow creased. “You said that about the tieflings as well, if I recall correctly.”

“And I still stand by that. We should exile them from our grove and send this young man with them.”

You were trying not to panic as the horned snake coiled around your leg, and other than your shallow breaths that made your slender chest rise and fall ever so slightly, you remained perfectly motionless while the druids bickered and decided your fate.

“Kagha, he was only daydreaming. He meant no disrespect to you, I’m sure.”

“He wasn’t _daydreaming_ , Halsin. He was in a _trance_. He was _communing_ with something; I know it. You’re always so eager to dismiss my suspicions, when you know that my sense of judgment has always been right.”

“Not always.”

By the time the serpent was wound around your arm and bobbing its head side-to-side in front of your face, Kagha’s attention snapped back to you and her companion, and the druidess hissed a command for the snake to return to her side, which it obeyed immediately. You could breathe soundly again.

“I’ve more important matters to attend to,” Kagha snapped. “Congratulations on bringing in another mouth that we don’t have the resources to feed, Halsin. I hope that it doesn’t come back to bite you.” 

She stormed off with the snake curled around her shoulders, disappearing behind the stone wall that slid open to permit her entry into what you assumed to be some sacred chamber that you probably wouldn’t be seeing the inside of anytime soon. You were surprised that Halsin took you this far into the grove, but you wouldn’t blame him if you were restricted from some parts of it. Honestly, you hoped that the frightening druidess spent most of her time behind that wall. The less time you’d be spending around her while you were here, the better.

“I’m sorry about that,” Halsin said, shaking his head disappointedly. “I believe Kagha means well, but her temper and mistrust towards outsiders gets the better of her, I’m afraid.”

You wanted to confess to him that she was right about you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You were too afraid of the repercussions, and you hardly wanted to be cast back outside where there were evidently goblins roaming about. It was safe here, though you couldn’t help but feel like a fox sneaking around a hen house because of your demon friend that shadowed your troubled soul.

Lord Murmyr was your beloved friend, but some days you almost regretted making a pact with him. Alas, you had no real choice in the matter. At the time of making the bargain, you really had no free will at all. You were a vacant clone waiting to be filled with the soul of your mysterious creator once he had died. Back when you were hollow, you understood basic commands and could perform equally simple tasks, but you didn’t understand anything going on around you in a meaningful way. You could remember things, but you didn’t grasp their significance. So, when Murmyr appeared to you one day, you were quite oblivious as to what was going on until you were granted your first conscious thought.

Apparently, the demon found you before your creator’s soul ever did, and Murmyr placed a soul within his possession inside of you instead. Murmyr made it seem that he was striking a deal directly with you, but in retrospect, you knew that you had to have a soul to make such pacts in the first place. Whose soul was inside of you now? You wondered that often, but you didn’t remember ever being anyone else in the past. You only knew the you that you were now. It was too worrying to think about who you might have been, so whenever you found yourself dwelling on the subject, you pushed it to the back of your mind.

All that mattered was that you enjoyed having a soul of your own, and that you’d never wittingly go back to the way you used to be. Especially not when you vaguely recalled the way your family used to look at you with such pity and, on some days, contempt. You were still a disappointment, but at least you weren’t an abomination anymore. 

Well, you were _less_ of one now.

But because of what was done, the demon was with you forever now, for better or for worse. There was some solace in knowing that, even if you drove everyone else around you away, you’d still have him. You’d never truly be alone, so it wasn’t all bad. He did give you a soul, after all, so it was the least that you could do.

Still, it seemed strange. Demons were typically known for _taking_ souls rather than giving them away. Then again, souls must not have been particularly useful without a vessel of some kind. You were extremely curious about Lord Murmyr’s motivations, but knew it was not your place to ask. Perhaps you were better off _not_ knowing.

“It’s alright…” You ran your hand along one of the coarse pillars next to you, tracing your fingers along the cracks in the stonework. “I get that reaction a lot, so I’m used to it.”

Halsin gave you a sympathetic smile. “People misunderstood me in the same way when I was your age. But don’t worry, I’m sure Kagha will come around in time. You seem like a pleasant young man to me.”

You smiled back, looking him in the eye sheepishly. “Thank you, First Druid.”

“Not a problem.” He tilted his head in the direction of the door Kagha went behind. “There’s some research that I have to get back to, but we’ll speak again later. Until then, make yourself at home, but please try not to disturb my brothers and sisters while they care for the grove. If they make a request of you, I ask that you obey it. Most of them are a lot more approachable than Kagha, I assure you, and they shouldn’t ask for anything unreasonable.” He chuckled a little.

After you nodded, Halsin waved to you goodbye and left as well. You were already nervous in his absence, but you urged yourself to shuffle your feet forward, taking another look around now that your mind was clearer.

Getting lost in your conversations with Murmyr sometimes made you miss out on the beauty of the real world. Now that you could see it clearly, the grove was wonderful. Nothing smelled of decay or acrid chemicals here—the scents that you were most used to, and the scenery was bright and happy, not dim and gloomy like the tower you grew up in back at Baldur’s Gate. 

Colorful wildflowers blossomed along the bright green grass, the trees provided ample shade without blocking out all of the warm sunlight, ferns grew here and there, and tendrils of ivy and patches of moss clung to statues and other masonry that must have been here for generations. You circled the stone ring around the shrine to Silvanus, peering up at the idol with wonder and awe, until you became dizzy and decided to go rest your legs beneath one of the smaller trees. 

A few of the druids found some mild entertainment in your peculiar behavior, but they seemed to understand your amazement and left you be, since you were keeping a respectful distance from the idol and weren’t bothering anybody. You could have spent the rest of the afternoon talking with one of them, but you typically preferred the company of animals. You probably should have mentioned to Halsin that you could also speak to creatures of the wild and their domesticated kin. That might have helped your case in your desire to join his order, but you were sure that you’d have time to bring it up later when he returned from the cavern.

So, you inched towards the drowsy bear that was slowly drifting off to sleep a few feet away from you, and quietly apologized for being so rude earlier when Halsin tried to introduce you to the animal. The bear didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the bear simply wanted to rest as much as you did, so you curled up next to it and closed your weary eyes. You missed your family and your home, but you were already content with being here.

You didn’t expect that you’d be missing Halsin soon, too, when he decided to unexpectedly leave the grove days later for reasons he wouldn’t explain. You blamed yourself when Halsin was captured by the goblins, even though you had nothing to do with it, since you remained in the grove the entire time, rather than coming along on his expedition to search for some relic. Troubled followed you wherever you went, and simply by being around, bad things tended to happen to good people, you noticed.

You probably should have stayed in the tower, where the world could be safe from you, and you from it. Fortunately, as always, your uncle Thomas would happen to arrive to the grove shortly after Halsin’s disappearance and save you from your latest mistake.

As much as you tired of being coddled all your life, you begrudgingly accepted that perhaps it was for your own good. You just couldn’t make it on your own. You always needed someone to take care of you.

_I’ll take care of you_ , a distant voice would occasionally say to you inside your head, but for once, it wasn’t Lord Murmyr. It was a voice that sounded familiar, yet alien somehow, like it hadn’t actually belonged to who was speaking to you.

You didn’t really care who it was. It was inviting and soothing, and you felt very alone since Halsin had gone.

Kagha wasn’t particularly happy, either, when she noticed that when you’d spend the afternoons lingering around the entrance to the inner sanctum, awaiting Halsin’s return with bated breath, the grass and the wildflowers would wilt and die in a small patch around you after you’d sat there for a few hours.

In the short time you’d known him, you really grew to like Halsin, and you were hoping that he could be the one to save you from yourself. You’d been wrong about that before, and no doubt you’d be wrong about it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The simplicity of solitude is a hard thing to perfect. Stealing happiness from loneliness is not a simple theft, but the black bear has it figured out and gets what he deserves. And the fur that he is wearing is the fur that he prefers."
> 
> Recommended Listening: Black Bear by Black Bear


End file.
